


Lord Monster

by neko_fish



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Body snatching, F/M, London, M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko_fish/pseuds/neko_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regency!Mirror!Verse. Sent to London in his stepfather's stead, Lord James Kirk expected his trip to be dull and unexciting--that is, until he saw Leonard McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to the lovely siluria for beta'ing! Historical notes are at the end for those interested.

“My Lord, if you’ll come this way….”  
   
James T. Kirk stifled a yawn as he followed his guide, a stout little man, around the hospital. The sun was setting outside and he was getting bored. But as one of the hospital’s biggest benefactors, his mother and stepfather had insisted on doing an onsite visit to ensure everything was to their standards. Unfortunately, due to some unexpected political turbulence, James was sent to London in their stead.  
   
Christopher Pike was an ambitious man with a passion for the sciences and medicine, a marquis aiming for dukedom. He found an equally ambitious woman in Winona Kirk, who was then a widow and a countess of her own right. With their combined strength and cunning, it was only a matter of time before dukedom became theirs. And James, being the younger son, was more than happy to sit back and watch for the opportunity to snatch the title for himself from both his parents and his brother by whatever means necessary. He had his own small but loyal team of servants at his beck and call, so all he had to do was wait.  
   
He failed to stifle his next yawn.  
   
Having allies in the medical field was always a good move to make whether it was for healing or for getting rid of rivals, James understood that. But that didn’t make the visit any more bearable. His guide and attendant had already spent the whole day showing him the lecture halls, chemistry labs, and everything in between. He’d even got to watch a man die on the operating table, which he admittedly found quite amusing if only because of the sheepish and panicked expressions on the surgeon and his apprentice’s faces when they realized he had been watching the entire time.  
   
Deciding that there was nothing the little man could possibly show him that would be of any interest, James was about to cut his visit short in favour of sampling some of London’s… _finer_  goods when a lit room down the hallway caught his eye. “What’s happening down there?” he asked.  
   
“It’s probably just one of our staff preparing class material for their lectures tomorrow, My Lord,” his guide explained.  
   
For some reason, the light spilling out from the partially open door drew him in like a moth to a flame, and he decided to have a look. Not giving his guide a chance to protest or to steer him around, he made his way down the hall with purposeful strides and poked his head through the door.  
   
Lit by the setting sun and gas-fueled lamps, the room was empty save one man standing over an operating table, slicing a cadaver open with care. So immersed in his work, the man didn’t notice the new set of eyes on him. He had short brown hair with his lips pulled tight and eyebrows knit in concentration. With his overcoat off and sleeves rolled up, he made a long incision down the corpse’s chest and began peeling back the skin and flesh to expose the ribs.  
   
James had never seen a more beautiful sight.  
   
The guide cleared his throat, causing both James and the man to turn their attention to him. James wanted to strangle the little man for interrupting the performance. “Ah, My Lord, I see you found one of our top surgeons and chemists here.”  
   
The man remained silent. Instead of appreciating the compliments paid to him, he was evidently peeved at being interrupted from his work. It was clear that he just barely managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes or sigh—or both. The scowl on his face sent blood rushing down to James’ groin. Unable to see clearly in the low lighting, he wondered what colour those eyes were.  
   
“Mister McCoy,” the guide continued, though there was an underlying warning in his voice, “this is Lord James Kirk, surely you know of him. He is the son of one of our biggest benefactors.” Then more courteously, he turned back to James. “Lord James, this is Mister Leonard McCoy. His father was one of our very best, and Mister McCoy is set to follow in his tracks. We have no doubt that he will be the next John Hunter.”  
   
“My Lord,” McCoy muttered with a stiff nod and open contempt.  
   
James was immediately intrigued. He was quite familiar with working class people and  _commoners_ , and he understood that they had a different set of rules for their behaviour, but this was different. How curious.  
   
“What are you doing there, Mister McCoy?” he asked, lips curling upwards into an amused grin.  
   
“I’m preparing material for Doctor Boyce’s anatomy lecture tomorrow,” McCoy replied, voice devoid of all enthusiasm. His tone made it clear that any form of conversation—and their very presence—was unwelcomed. James raised a brow in interest, recognizing the name as his stepfather’s personal physician who’d returned to London to teach for a while.       
   
“Why isn’t one of Doctor Boyce’s assistants doing this?”  
   
“I offered to do it for him” McCoy answered.  
   
“Why?” the guide asked once more.  
   
Visibly suppressing a sigh, McCoy elaborated with no small amount of reluctance, “I recently heard of a surgical procedure that’s being widely practiced in Prussia and I wanted to properly test it out before practicing it in the examining room. Given our shortage on cadavers, this was the only way I could do it. I’d rather make mistakes on a deceased criminal than on a living person,” then he added as an afterthought, “ _sir_.”  
   
The guide nodded and turned to James with a boastful look on his face. “As you can see, My Lord, our staff are nothing if not dedicated here.”  
   
James hummed in appreciation, eyes never leaving McCoy. “Yes, I can see that. Most dedicated, indeed.”  
   
Uncomfortable with being scrutinized, McCoy cleared his throat and spoke with a shuttered expression on his face, “With all due respect, I need to do my work, and I don’t believe watching me expose the chest cavity of a corpse will be to your taste,” he shot James and his guide a pointed look, “ _My Lord_.”  
   
“Mister McCoy, hold your tongue!”  
   
The open defiance and utter distain in those eyes made James want to take the man raw over the operating table. But a gentleman of his standing couldn’t risk doing something so  _ill-mannered_. Instead, he flashed McCoy a diplomatic smile. “It’s quite alright. I think you’d be surprised to learn otherwise, Mister McCoy. I happen to have a great interest in human anatomy and medical science.” He gestured at the cadaver. “Please, pretend we’re not even here.”  
   
“My Lord?”  
   
He silenced his guide with a wave.  
   
Arching an eyebrow, McCoy shot the guide a confused look. Then he studied James a moment longer as though trying to figure out if he was serious or not, but then after some consideration and with the sun setting, McCoy shrugged to himself and returned to his work. Following James’ suggestion, he paid his audience no further heed.  
   
James crossed his arms and watched in silence, eyes filled with enthralment and lust as those large, steady hands sliced through another layer of flesh and muscle, further exposing the cadaver’s ribs. He turned to his guide. “Would you be so kind as to fetch my carriage? I’m afraid I will have to finish my tour another day. For now, I’d like to watch Mister McCoy finish his work.”  
   
The guide looked uncertain but knew better than to question the son of a marquis. He dipped his head and gave a respectful bow. “Of course, as you’d like, My Lord. Your carriage will be ready and waiting at the entrance whenever you’re finished.”  
   
Before leaving, he shot McCoy a look of warning, cementing James’ suspicion that the man had earned himself a reputation for his attitude. The man must’ve been brilliant if he managed to get away with such insolence—brilliant or very well-connected.  
   
If McCoy noticed the withering look, he didn’t show any sign of it.  
   
At the sound of flesh tearing and parting, James turned back to find McCoy slowly spreading the ribs with steady, almost gentle hands. Wary eyes glanced up at him as though gauging his reaction. Pleased with the effect he had on the man, James smirked. “Does it make you uncomfortable to be left alone with me,  _Mister McCoy_?”  
   
McCoy had the gall to scoff and roll his eyes. “No,  _My Lord_. I just wanted to make sure you don’t pass out like most… _gentlemen_  of your standing would, but clearly, that won’t be an issue with you. If it was your intention to watch someone get cut apart, I would recommend you go to the examining rooms for a better performance.”  
   
He studied the man for a moment before concluding with some amusement, “You think they’re all idiots here.”  
   
“No, I don’t,” was McCoy’s instant reply, half-hearted as it was. He wasn’t even making an effort to makes his words sound genuine.  
   
“Yes, you do,” he refuted. “Why is that?” Then he added with a teasing grin, “I promise I won’t tell the director.”  
   
Ever the honest man, McCoy answered with a mutter of contempt, “I should think it’s obvious. When half the patients end up dead, you’d think they’d realize that something’s wrong. Physicians and surgeons are supposed to save lives, but it’s not happening here as much as it should. The physicians don’t diagnose illnesses correctly, and the surgeons kill people in the examination room. And bloodletting, good lord, the bloodletting.”  
   
Having gone through the treatment on numerous occasions in the past and having hated every moment of it, he blinked and asked, “What about bloodletting? I take it that you don’t approve of the practice? It’s what all the physicians recommend.”  
   
“I know. But think back to the last time you had it done. Did it cure you of whatever ailments you had, or did they just bleed you out until you grew faint and no longer noticed the symptoms?” McCoy asked.  
   
He took a moment to think, never having thought to evaluate its effectiveness before. “I fainted and was bedridden for days,” he recalled. “Are you suggesting that it’s ineffective? That’s quite a bold claim you’re making, Mister McCoy.”  
   
McCoy shrugged. “In my  _humble_  opinion, bloodletting does more harm than good, and I refuse to practice it. It’s about as effective as that tobacco smoke enema obsession everyone went through a couple years ago. I could probably go on all day about all the reasons why bloodletting doesn’t work as a treatment. But who am I to say? I had to  _beg_  just to get my hands on a cadaver. Damn shortages.”  
   
It wasn’t right, James thought. McCoy should have access to as many bodies, dead and alive, as he wanted. He made cutting through cold, unfeeling flesh look like a work of art and no artist should ever be deprived of their medium. The idea of McCoy begging though, it sent shivers down his spine. James licked his lips. “I’m sure that’ll change soon enough.”  
   
“What?” McCoy blinked and stared at him in alarm.  
   
“As I’m sure you’ve heard, the Kirks are strong supporters of scientific and medical advancement,” he said conversationally. It was a line he often used at dinner parties and banquets. “I daresay, I’m most interested in hearing more about your opinions on bloodletting and the alternative treatments you have in mind, Mister McCoy. Why don’t you come to my residence after you’re finished here? We can have dinner and discuss your concerns in regards to the current medical system and see what kind of… _assistance_  I can offer.”  
   
He could immediately see the cogs in McCoy’s head turning; probably trying to come up with a good enough excuse to decline the proposition. Ah, so the man’s sense of self-preservation was stronger than his ambitions—assuming he had any at all. Strange enough, he lacked the power-starved look that so many others had in their eyes. Any other person would’ve jumped at the opportunity to dine with a man of his status.  
   
With a guarded and distrustful frown, McCoy turned back to the cadaver to avoid further eye contact. He shook his head and replied in a neutral tone, “That’s a most generous offer, but I’m just a surgeon. You should probably take up your concerns with one of our physicians—like Doctor Piper or Doctor Boyce. Surely, with their experience, they’ll have better and more relevant insight into the problems around here,” cautious eyes flickered over at him, “My Lord.”  
   
James’ smile widened, a predatory glint flashed in his eyes. “You’re too modest, Mister McCoy. Judging by our brief conversation just now, I believe your insight to be just as reliable and valuable as any physician here, if not more so.”  
   
“You are too kind, My Lord,” McCoy muttered insincerely. James had never seen such a terrible liar. “I still have quite a bit to do here before I can leave,” he tried again, growing desperate to escape. “I doubt you’ll want to wait for me to finish.”  
   
“I don’t mind waiting,” he immediately replied with an offhanded wave. “Worst comes to worst, I’ll just have to take full responsibility for stealing you away a little earlier. I’m sure no one will have a problem if I make the request. You absolutely  _must_  join me for dinner.” Then he added, “I  _insist_.”  
   
McCoy tensed, realizing that he’d been effectively trapped. Dropping all pretenses, he gritted his teeth and replied with a strained voice, “Well, if you insist. Who am I to turn down such a… _gracious invitation_?” Those last two words were so heavily laced with sarcasm and venom, James couldn’t help grinning.  
   
Pleased with how their short-lived but amusing argument turned out, James leaned against the wall and continued watching. He was caught off guard when McCoy suddenly began working with twice the speed and precision than he had earlier. The man was full of surprises. Just when he thought McCoy couldn’t look anymore beautiful cutting into the corpse, he was proven wrong. “Were you deliberately working more slowly earlier?”  
   
Heaving an exasperated sigh, McCoy admitted, “I was hoping you’d get bored and leave me alone.”  
   
Stunned, James let out a sharp bark of laughter, causing the man to look up at him in surprise. “You really are something else, McCoy.”  
   
Scowl deepening at the casualness he was addressed with, McCoy returned to the cadaver. With the chest cavity fully exposed, he wiped down his scalpel and held it over a flame. He then dipped it in one of the solutions laid out on the table before making a cut into the side of the body. He repeated the procedure with different solutions, making incisions down the side of the body, writing down notes after every cut.  
   
Then moving onto the other side of body, he made cuts down the side and sewed them back up before applying a different set of solutions to the cuts. Jotting down more notes, he looked over his cuts and sutures and nodded to himself.  
   
Curious, James asked, “What are you doing now?”  
   
“Research,” was the curt reply he received.  
   
“Research?” he repeated. When he didn’t receive the explanation he was waiting for, he cleared his throat in warning. As entertaining as McCoy’s boldness was, there was only so much disrespect he was willing to put up with before taking matters into his own hands.  
   
McCoy arched an eyebrow, perhaps sensing his irritation. With a suppressed sigh, he tidied his things and began disinfecting them over the flame. “A large number of our patients die from infections that occur after they've had their surgeries. I’ve been corresponding with surgeons and doctors on the topic of infections. I want to see if any of these concoctions can ward them off.”  
   
“That’s most impressive,” he said, meaning it.  
   
“It’s not impressive unless I find a way to stop people from dying,” McCoy grumbled. “With our current practices, if you want someone dead, all you have to do is leave their wound, however shallow, untreated. It’s unacceptable.”  
   
The fiery passion in his voice made James blink. “I’m curious. Why did you decide to be a surgeon, McCoy?”  
   
It was McCoy’s turn to blink. He looked at James as if he didn’t understand the question and furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean why? I’m a surgeon because I want to help people.” An unspoken ‘of course’ followed his statement.  
   
“Yes, but you’re clearly an educated and talented man. Why don’t you become a physician instead of harrowing away as a surgeon?” he clarified. “The wages would be higher and the work less…arduous.”  
   
Walking over to a basin of water and washing his hands with soap, McCoy replied, “I could if I wanted to. But as I said before, I want to help people, and the people who need help usually aren’t those who can afford to send for physicians. Besides, for all their education and university degrees, physicians are quite useless in my opinion. What good is a doctor who’s too much of a gentleman to reset a broken bone or to suture a wound? By the time he sends for a surgeon, the patient might’ve already bled to death.”  
   
“Let’s not forget the bloodletting,” James added helpfully.  
   
Scowling as he shrugged his overcoat back on, McCoy nodded. “And the bloodletting. All physicians do is tell others to do the wrong thing. I’ll admit that some of them might be great doctors, but most of them aren’t, and I want no part in it. I make enough to eke out a living and that’s good enough for me.”  
   
A man with no ambition beyond healing people; how strange and rare. A slow smile spread on James’ lips. “Your reasons seem fair enough. Given your strong penchant for saving lives, I assume you served during the wars?”  
   
McCoy dipped his head, packing up his tools. “Yes, but not willingly.”  
   
He blinked. “Oh? Unwillingly? I find that hard to believe.”  
   
“I’m not fond of wars or boats,” the man admitted.  
   
Another laugh escaped him. Two genuine laughs in a single conversation—it was unprecedented. “You  _are_  an unusual one. Are you ready to go?”  
   
“Yeah,” McCoy said, though it sounded more like a resigned ‘let’s get this over with.’  
   
James nodded, hand reaching back to make sure his pistols were still ready for use. “Let’s go then.”  
   
Arching an eyebrow, McCoy didn’t comment on the firearms and followed him out into the hallway.  
   
At the entrance, the guide was waiting for them, looking surprised that he was leaving with McCoy in tow. He smiled and gestured at the scowling man behind him. “I must say, I was most impressed with Mister McCoy’s work on that cadaver. In fact, he even graciously offered to teach me more about the medical procedures performed here, and I simply couldn’t say no.” His grin widened when he heard McCoy sputtering in indignation and disbelief behind him. “I hope you won’t mind me stealing him away for the rest of the day?”  
   
The little man’s eyes flickered with hesitation from him to McCoy. “No, of course not, please, by all means, go ahead and steal him away, My Lord.”  
   
“Thank you for your cooperation. If all goes well on this trip, you can expect a commendation from the Kirk household. So far, this trip has been an absolute delight.” He loved the feeling of having power in his hands— _needed_  it—fed off it like an impoverished child. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way.”  
   
 “Of course, My Lord. I am most pleased to hear that you’re enjoying your visit thus far.” Then shooting McCoy a menacing glare, he gritted out, “And Mister McCoy, I trust you’ll ensure Lord James finds the remainder of his time here most pleasant.”  
   
McCoy didn’t reply; too busy seething at having been trapped by James’ words yet again. The amount of funding resting on James’ word was enormous—so much so that the hospital’s very existence was at stake. That was the last thing he wanted resting on his shoulders.  
   
Once they got outside, they were greeted by a carriage driven by an Asian man with a boy, no older than seventeen opening the carriage door for them. Both of them were armed. James casually introduced the two, “Sulu, Chekov, meet my guest, Mister McCoy. He’ll be dining with me tonight. Mister McCoy, meet my coachman, Sulu, and my footman, Chekov—don’t let their age fool you, they’re also my best guards.”  
   
Momentarily distracted from his rage, McCoy nodded at the two, thanked the boy and boarded the carriage. When the door closed and he was faced with laughing blue eyes and James’ grinning face once more, the anger returned full force. “You…you—”  
   
James smirked, challenging him to finish his sentence. “Go on. Is there something you’d like to say to me,  _Mister_ McCoy?”  
   
Swallowing down whatever insult he had ready, McCoy hissed, “Why are you doing this? If you want to hear more about the hospital or whatever the hell it is that you want, I’m sure you could find a more willing companion. You’re already acquainted with Doctor Boyce, aren’t you? Why couldn’t you find him instead? Why me?”  
   
He shrugged. “Boyce is my stepfather’s physician, not mine, and I’ve heard what kind of things he has to say. He may be an excellent physician, but he’s hardly interesting enough to keep me entertained.”  
   
“Entertained?” McCoy repeated, scowl deepening. “ _Entertained_? You’re dragging me away from the hospital for your  _entertainment_?”  
   
“Yes, I am,” James answered easily. “Is there a problem?”  
   
McCoy all but exploded at that. “Of course there’s a problem! Good god, man, what if there’s an emergency and people need  _help_?”  
   
The genuine concern made him blink. He had to admit, it wasn’t a tone of voice he was used to hearing and yet it was all he had heard from McCoy so far. Either the man was the greatest actor in the country, or he was the real thing—a healer through and through. James had every intention to find out which he was.  
   
He shrugged again. “There’ll be other surgeons there to help them. And if they really need to reach you, they know where to find you.” They both knew no one would dare interrupt them. Smiling, he added, “I’m sure you’ll find it worth your while to keep me company, McCoy.”  
   
After a pause, McCoy collected himself and turned to look out the window, muttering to himself, “Unbelievable….”  
   
Through the light of the setting sun, James could finally make out the colour of the man’s eyes.  
   
Hazel.  
   
\--  
   
At the Kirks’ London estate, McCoy appeared taken aback by their long, in-depth discussion on issues pertaining to the medical practices and sanitation over dinner. Throughout the evening, James’ butler and valet, Spock, served them wine while his housekeeper, Uhura, oversaw the meal. Although the two remained silent, he could feel them studying McCoy with interest. And McCoy, no doubt feeling their prying eyes on him, did his best to feign ignorance though the amount of wine he drank indicated otherwise.  
   
After dinner, he showed McCoy around the estate. “I was impressed that you were able to keep up with the debate,” McCoy told him as they strolled down the hallway. His eyes were slightly glazed and his cheeks were flushed from all the wine he ingested during the meal.  
   
James smiled, watching the man closely, licking his lips in anticipation. “Like I said before, I have a strong interest in medical science.”  
   
“I didn’t think you were serious,” McCoy admitted. “Most of our benefactors just walk around and make sure we’re keeping our scalpels sharp and ready to be used.”  
   
When they arrived at his chambers, he led the man inside with a laugh, successfully distracting him from his immediate surroundings. “It’s a good thing I’m not like most benefactors then, hmm?”  
   
McCoy arched a brow. “I think that’s highly debatable considering how you pulled me from my work just to dine with you.” Once he realized where he’d been led to, he stopped in his tracks and glanced back at the entrance. Wide-eyed and hesitant, he began, “My Lord, I think perhaps I should—”  
   
Pulling him close by the neckcloth, James cut him off with a searing kiss and kicked the door shut. “Call me James, McCoy. And you really must stay the night.” His lips curled into a predatory smirk. “I  _insist_.”  
   
\--  
   
The next morning, he had his servants draw up separate baths for him and McCoy. James mentally patted himself on the back when he watched those hazel eyes light up for a brief moment at the thought of taking an actual bath. The look was quickly quelled when McCoy looked over at him and recalled what he went through to earn the luxury. James merely smiled and waved him off, allowing Uhura to lead him to a separate room.  
   
Watching as the footmen and chambermaids emptied their buckets of water into the tub, he reminded himself to consult his chef and resident engineer, Scotty, about coming up with a more efficient system. As he soaked in the tub, Spock stood nearby, waiting silently with a towel. “You know,” he told the stoic man, kicking water up with his feet, “I thought London was going to be a dull and unexciting place.”  
   
Spock arched an eyebrow. “Judging by your tone of voice, I assume you have found it otherwise, My Lord?”  
   
No matter how hard he tried or how often he insisted, he just couldn’t get the man to address him by anything but ‘My Lord’. After the first few years, he gave up.  
   
“Let’s just say my mind’s been changed.” Just thinking about the way McCoy moaned and growled his name made James want to drag the man back for another round. Stepping out of the tub, he allowed himself to be dried off, not bothering to hide the fact that he was half hard. He wasn’t shy about his body and it wasn’t an unusual occurrence by any means for Spock.  
   
“Shall I inform Missus Uhura that Mister McCoy will be joining us for dinner again tonight?”  
   
He nodded. “I suspect that he’ll be joining me often for the remainder of this trip. Perhaps I’ll appoint him as my personal doctor—provided he’s as good as his reputation suggests.”  
   
After toweling James off, Spock began helping him dress. “You are planning on assigning a surgeon to be your personal physician? I am not sure your mother would approve. Should the role not be filled by an actual physician?”  
   
Voice momentarily cut off when Spock buttoned up his waistcoat, James waited for the man to finish before continuing, “She’s too concerned with my brother and Pike to bother with me at the moment. That’s the advantage of being the younger son. Besides, a surgeon’s more practical than a physician. And I’m certain McCoy is more than qualified to be a physician, but he chose to turn down the prestige in favour of saving lives. Isn’t that interesting, Spock?”  
   
“Yes. Fascinating, My Lord,” was the only indulgence he received.  
   
Watching Spock tuck his trousers into his boots, he wiggled his toes around uncomfortably. “I really wish these clothes were easier to take off. The amount of time it took me to get myself undressed last night was appalling.”  
   
“I will see if there are any other more practical alternatives that your mother would approve of, My Lord,” Spock told him. “Have you already made plans for today?”  
   
James sighed. “Yes—unfortunately. I have to pay the Marquise of Lansdowne a morning call on behalf of my mother, and I have no doubt she’ll find out if I miss it. Then I also have to look into the matter of getting the hospital more cadavers before I can indulge myself with a barmaid or two.”  
   
Although his servants had been trained and given the strictest instructions to keep household affairs to themselves, he’d long since learnt not to play around with chambermaids or any of the staff—those needed to be disposed of and missing people led to rumours and gossip regardless of discipline. With his discretion, the stringent supervision of his upper servants, and the Kirk household’s influence, he had yet to develop a reputation for his…carnal appetite. And he wasn’t worried about McCoy in the least. The man wasn’t one to share his private affairs, and the hospital would sooner keep him quiet by force than risk going out of business.  
   
Spock’s eyebrow arched again. “Cadavers? I assume this matter pertains to Mister McCoy?”  
   
He grinned and made his way towards the door. “You’re correct as always, Spock. As you know, the Kirks are the most…generous of patrons to those we favour.”  
   
“Indeed,” Spock said with no intonation, following him out into the hallway where they were joined by McCoy and Uhura. Nodding at the woman, he was reminded that he was no stranger to the Kirks’ ‘generosity’.  
   
Looking over at his housekeeper, James asked, “I trust Mister McCoy had a proper bath, Missus Uhura?”  
   
Uhura nodded. “Of course,  _My Lord_.” Even after so many years of service, it was impressive how she still managed to sound so sardonic when addressing him. “He’s quite the gentleman—even had the decency to blush when Gaila and I offered to help him get dressed.”  
   
“Is that right?” He chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll outgrow his shyness soon enough.”  
   
McCoy shot him an alarmed look at that.  
   
James smiled and asked with exaggerated innocence, “Sulu will be waiting for you outside at sunset. Unfortunately, I have a dinner party I must attend tonight so I won’t be back until after dinner, but you  _will_ be joining me for supper tonight, won’t you, Mister McCoy?”  
   
There was a pause. Then, muttering curses under his breath, McCoy narrowed his eyes and scowled. “How could I turn down such a  _gracious_  invitation,  _My Lord_?”  
   
Laughing, James gave McCoy a light clap on the shoulder. “Please, when we’re not in public, just call me James.”  
   
He couldn’t get enough of those fierce hazel eyes.  
   
\--  
   
When his carriage pulled to a stop near a shoddy looking tavern, James looked around the surrounding area with distaste. He could hear screams and cries from the streets and laughter from the tavern. It was a neighbourhood where every life was expendable—nothing more than a commodity to be bought and sold. He nodded at Spock. “I trust you and Chekov can handle this?”  
   
“Naturally, My Lord,” Spock replied and stepped off the carriage with his hood on.  
   
As much as he wanted to go in and take care of the matter himself, he couldn’t risk being seen in public with resurrectionists and tarnishing his reputation. He pulled his hood over his head, hiding his face, when he caught sight of his servants returning with a pair of dirty looking men. It took all the self-control he had not to wrinkle his nose in disgust when the men boarded the carriage. They smelt of filth and alcohol.  
   
“What’s the big idea?” one of them asked.  
   
They were ill-mannered and crude in all the wrong ways, unlike McCoy.  
   
“Gentlemen,” he began with a subtle smile, “I understand you specialize in a very particular… _trade_  I’m interested in….”  
   
   
Later, after they dropped the men off back at the tavern, James turned to Spock with a slight frown. “I have to admit that that was disappointingly easy. I didn’t even get a chance to wave my pistols around.”  
   
“Given their impoverished states and the amount of money you were offering, their compliance was to be expected, My Lord,” Spock replied with an arched brow.  
   
He sighed. “Yes, of course. It certainly was a lot simpler than dealing with noblemen—even though I’ll need the carriage to be thoroughly cleaned or disposed of just to be rid of the smell they left behind. Actually, let’s go back and switch carriages. I can’t imagine being cooped up with this stench for the rest of the day.”  
   
“As you would like, My Lord.”  
   
“Oh, and Spock?”  
   
“Yes?”  
   
Turning to look out the window, he ordered, “Once they deliver all the bodies, they will have to be disposed of. I doubt the hospital will object to being given two more cadavers for their collection.”  
   
Spock nodded, giving away no emotions. “Of course, My Lord.”  
   
“Don’t you find it ironic how these people will be worth more in death than they ever were when they were alive? Do you think McCoy will appreciate this little gift?” James asked.  
   
“Given Mister McCoy’s strict moral standings, I have my doubts,” Spock replied.  
   
He grinned. “That’s what I thought. I can’t wait to see his reaction.”  
   
\--  
   
James wished he had a way to capture McCoy’s expression forever when he heard about the sudden increase in the number of cadavers at the hospital. The man’s face was so expressive that he could spend a week just watching him without getting bored. First, there was curiosity and wariness which then turned into alarm and dread when it was announced that a number of the cadavers would be reserved for his usage only.  
   
It wasn’t the cheapest or the most gratifying thing he’d ever done, but it was definitely worth it just to see such an impressive array of emotions cross McCoy’s face. James took it all in with near-childish delight.  
   
“You…! You did all this, didn’t you? Dammit, man, this is against the law!” McCoy hissed at him once they were alone in an examining room.  
   
He blinked with feigned ignorance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why am I not surprised that you’re the only one raising objections? Isn’t this a good thing, McCoy? Students will have the chance to practice on cadavers now and you get your test subjects for your research.”  
   
“But these were decent people! You can’t just dig them up from their graves!” McCoy protested.  
   
“Well,  _I_  certainly wouldn’t do such a thing,” James replied, pretending to be affronted by the very idea. “Look, the corpses are already here, McCoy. You can’t very well stuff them back into the ground. And they’re already dead, what can they do? Or are you saying you’d rather be left out of the festivities and choose not to work with any of them?”  
   
McCoy hesitated.  
   
He pressed on, knowing he’d already won the argument. “I happen to recall a certain surgeon saying on my first day here, ‘I’d rather make mistakes on a deceased criminal than on a living person.’ Does that sound familiar to you?” Then he shrugged. “It’s your choice, McCoy. You only have two options here. It’s either you make good use of these corpses or you don’t.”  
   
After a long moment of silence, McCoy sighed in defeat. “Fine.”  
   
“‘Fine?’” James arched a brow in warning, giving the man a second chance.  
   
“…thank you for your most generous contribution,  _My Lord_ ,” McCoy muttered through gritted teeth.  
   
“That’s better.” He barely kept the laughter out of his voice as he made his way to the door. “Of course, I’ll be looking forward to seeing just how grateful you are later, Mister McCoy.”  
   
Seething, McCoy remained silent.  
   
At the door, James turned around and asked, “Oh, I nearly forgot to ask: will you be in need of…younger cadavers?”  
   
He immediately got the reaction he was hoping for. Hazel eyes widened and the rage on McCoy’s face bled away into a horrified expression.  
   
“Ah,” he said with a slow nod, suppressing a smile, “’I’ll assume that’s a no then.”  
   
\--  
   
With his chambers illuminated by moonlight, James studied McCoy’s sleeping form and idly ran a finger over the man’s lips before brushing loose strands of hair out of his face. Unconsciously, McCoy let out a soft sigh and leaned into the touch—something he would never do were he awake, James noted with some amusement.  
   
_“Why me?”_ McCoy had asked him on the first day.  
   
It was a question James was beginning to ponder himself. Weeks had passed and he still sought out the man’s presence almost every evening. Why? While McCoy was a stunning specimen physically, there were many more like him, if not better. James had always enjoyed the company of young, voluptuous barmaids with soft, milky white skin and seductive smiles—he wasn’t sure how he ended up with an older, broad-shouldered surgeon with calloused hands and a constant scowl on his face.  
   
He had to admit that McCoy was a brilliant man, able to hold his own in a conversation covering a wide range of topics. As a surgeon and a chemist, he was unrivalled in his field—although his uncouth manners left something to be desired. With his heart bigger than his status was high or his pockets deep, McCoy was in no position to give, yet he went and gave anyway. It baffled him. An emotional and honest man and a terrible liar, McCoy was as useless to him politically as a person could get.  
   
And to make matters worse, the man was headstrong and ruled by a strict moral code of his own making, which, apparently, didn’t have a section outlining how to behave properly when addressing those above him. James didn’t know why he found such pleasure in McCoy’s insolence. If it had been any other man, he would’ve destroyed their life and reputation without a second thought. After all, the Kirk household didn’t build their reputation on mercy and kindness.  
   
Staring at the sleeping man, he murmured with uncharacteristic softness, “I don’t know, McCoy. Why you?”  
   
\--  
   
“It appears that you are getting  _quite_  attached to Mister McCoy, My Lord,” Spock noted one morning while tying his cravat.  
   
His immediate reply was a dismissive “Don’t be ridiculous, Spock.”  
   
Eyebrow arching in a chiding manner, Spock retorted, “I am hardly being ridiculous, My Lord. I am merely stating a logical conclusion after sixty-three days of observation.”  
   
James remained silent for a minute. Spock wasn’t one for ridiculousness—ever, which meant that it was a topic of concern to him. Deny it though he might, James knew the man was right. But if it was becoming obvious that it wasn’t a mere passing interest then new problems were bound to arise. It wasn’t a good time to be getting attached.  
   
But then again, as a member of the peerage, there was never a good time to get attached.  
   
Wary blue eyes glanced over at the window. “Is it a weakness?” What he meant to ask was: ‘Will I have to dispose of him?’ If McCoy could be used against him, then he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Kirks simply couldn’t afford to have weaknesses, and if he couldn’t have McCoy, then he’d make sure no one ever would.  
   
He’d never been in such an uncomfortable situation before nor had he ever been so hesitant.  
   
And it was over one measly surgeon who cared too much and whose eyes shone too brightly.  
   
Spock glanced up from helping him put his boots on. “I believe the question you should be asking is ‘Do the benefits outweigh the risks?’ I would suggest that you should assess Mister McCoy’s value before coming to a decision. It isn’t like you to jump to such drastic conclusions so easily, My Lord.”  
   
He mentally scolded himself for being so out of character. It was just an effect McCoy seemed to have on him for some unexplainable reason. Shaking his head to refocus, he made his way to the door. “Of course. Yes… Yes, you’re right. This is most peculiar. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”  
   
“I have no comment on the matter,” Spock replied, ever the wise man.  
   
“No, I didn’t think you would,” he said with a thin smile on his lips and made his way to the door. “I’m not a fool. I won’t follow in my father’s footsteps.”  
   
In the hall, he found McCoy waiting for him, impatient and arms crossed. “Took you long enough. I half expected you to come out in breeches and a powdered wig,” was the greeting he received. When he didn’t receive a flirtatious reply like he usually did, McCoy frowned and asked him, “Are you alright, James?”  
   
James nodded. “I’m fine.” Then he curled his lips into a teasing grin. “Could it be that the angels above finally have answered my prayers? Are you  _worried_  about me, McCoy?”  
   
Scoffing and rolling his eyes, McCoy muttered, “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, you damn infant.”  
   
He watched the scowling man out of the corner of his eyes and tried to convince himself that he would be able to act accordingly if the occasion arose.  
   
\--  
   
Leaning against the wall in the examining room, he decided that watching McCoy hack a man’s arm off was by far the best thing he had ever seen in London. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to thoroughly appreciate the performance with other thoughts preoccupying his mind. He wasn’t wrong when he suspected that issues would arise—he just never expected it to come from a duke.  
   
When news of Duke Archer’s arrival reached his ears, James wished he had gone back to the family seating. But apparently Archer had met Pike at one point during the conflict that kept the marquis away from London in the first place, and he decided to continue their discussion with James instead and thus, sent him a calling card. With Archer being a personal favourite of the king after leading several successful campaigns during the Napoleonic Wars, the man was untouchable even among the most powerful of men. James could hardly decline an invitation from such a prominent figure.  
   
_“I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you in person, Lord James. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you from your stepfather. I must say though, I didn’t expect you to be quite so young. That just adds to your reputation, I suppose. I predict that you’ll have a most promising future ahead of you.”_  
   
_Ah, so Pike saw him as a threat and Archer’s mistress, Hoshi Sato, sent the duke to evaluate the situation for himself. It was no secret to anyone aside from the man himself that the woman had him wrapped around her finger—the real puppet master behind the scene._  
   
_Guards up, he smiled. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”_  
   
A muffled scream from the patient snapped him out of his reverie for a moment. James glanced over at McCoy who had his sleeves rolled up and hands soaked in blood.  _Beautiful_. He licked is lips, watching the limb go flaccid as the muscles and nerves were severed. McCoy never looked up from his work once, even when barking orders at the other men in the room.  
   
The patient’s screaming eventually died off and James’ thoughts began wandering back to his morning call with Archer and his beloved pet beagle. The man was unnaturally attached to the little dog. Sure, the thing had its charms, but Archer treated it better than his own family. The beagle had a personal man-servant who carried it around and tended to all its needs, and it ate better than majority of the population in London. Surely, McCoy would roll his eyes at that if he knew—well, he would know soon enough.  
   
He’d worked so hard to keep McCoy away from the attention of the vicious social circle of the upper class. But somehow, the duke had caught wind of James’ interest in the hospital and began inquiring about it. Then, amidst discussing human anatomy and physiology, Archer managed to extract McCoy’s name from him and pick it out from the other names he had listed off (whilst feeding his dog a pastry).  
   
_“McCoy? I assume that that’s the surgeon you’ve been doting on, is it not? His name sounds vaguely familiar—perhaps he served during the wars? I daresay, I’m quite curious about this young man now. With your reputed eye for talent, I have no doubt that he’ll be among the best. I’ll be holding a ball in two week’s time and you absolutely must bring him. Be expecting invitations.”_  
   
_“That is most gracious of you, sir, however—”_  
   
_With a victorious gleam in his eyes, Archer cut him off, “I **insist** , Lord James.”_  
   
Done in by his own phrase.  
   
How humiliating.  
   
As frustrating as it was, being bested by the man, James couldn’t help admitting that, for an older gentleman, Archer was sharp. The man clearly earned his fearsome reputation among the peerage—he was a true monster among monsters. It was just a shame that his life was bound to be cut short by his mistress, he thought.  
   
Shifting his attention back to McCoy, he tried to think of the best way to break the news to him. With the patient unconscious and the limb amputated and dressed, McCoy straightened his back and let his blood-covered hands fall limply to his side. Breathing harder from the effort of sawing the limb off in as little time possible, McCoy turned and looked at him with those stunning hazel eyes, immediately distracting James from his thoughts.   
   
An affectionate smile made its way to his lips as he took in the image before him.  
   
“Excellent work as always, Mister McCoy,” he told the man with a purr of appreciation. “I never tire of watching you operate.”  
   
The other men in the room stared at McCoy in awe for having just been complimented by such a prominent figure. But having grown adept at reading his expressions, McCoy furrowed his eyebrows and turned back around to wash his hands with the shake of his head. “Unbelievable.”  
   
\--  
   
“You seem strangely subdued today,” McCoy muttered into his shoulder, half-asleep. It was as ‘affectionate’ as the man would ever get.  
   
The two of them had created a comfortable routine for themselves over the course of their time together. General discussions and debates were done over dinner and private matters were spoken of only in bed, away from the prying ears of lower servants, not that they would get very far with gossip under Spock and Uhura’s reign.  
   
James wrapped his arm around McCoy. “Is that right?”  
   
“Yeah. Your silence is a nice change but an unsettling one at the same time. Does this have something to do with that call you made on the duke?”  
   
“It does,” he admitted. “He’s holding a ball in two weeks. And you’ll be coming with me.” There was no point in trying to hide it now. There was also no point in pretending that either of them had a choice.  
   
McCoy shifted so that he could look at him. “Why?”  
   
“Because the duke personally requested it.”  
   
 “Again, why?”  
   
_Because they know I’m attached and want to see if they can exploit this weakness,_ James thought. “It was never my intention for this to happen. I suppose he was curious about why I’m spending so much time at the hospital.” Bringing one of McCoy’s hands up to his lips and kissing it, he smiled. “If he saw you operating, he’d know why.”  
   
He could sense McCoy rolling his eyes. “Dammit, James, I don’t want to go to any ball or meet any duke or marquis or whatever. I’m not an idiot. I know how the upper classes work—the ruthless bastards. It’s either you use people or be used, and I have no intention of getting myself caught up in it. It’s bad enough I had to meet a monster like you. I just want to be left alone so I can carry out my work in peace.”  
   
“I know. There isn’t very much either of us can do about it though,” he muttered, nibbling on the man’s neck.  
   
“I can’t even dance,” McCoy complained.  
   
James paused and blinked. “You can’t? No worries. Missus Uhura and I will teach you everything you’ll need to know. She’s an excellent dancer. And I’ll have Spock get you the appropriate attire and calling cards. Hopefully, it’ll only be that one night.”  
   
Sighing, McCoy closed his eyes. “I wish I never met you.”  
   
He smiled and bit down hard. “I know.”  
   
That night, he wrapped a hand lightly around McCoy’s throat and wondered if he could actually bring himself to squeeze.  
   
\--  
   
On the way to Archer’s estate, James frowned. “One more time. If anyone asks—”  
   
McCoy rolled his eyes and sighed. They’d spent all two weeks familiarizing him with the countless rules for ‘proper dining etiquette’. “I’m to tell them that I’m your personal surgeon and I can’t do anything without your permission. We’ve gone over this at least a dozen times now, James. I don’t understand why anyone would even  _think_  about discussing medical practices with me let alone asking me to work for them when they probably have some of the best physicians in Europe tending to them.”  
   
He shrugged. “Members of the peerage are strange like that.”  
   
“Yourself included,” McCoy added with a scowl.  
   
Laughing, he nodded. “Yes, myself included.”  
   
As they pulled up to the duke’s manor, McCoy turned to him. “You’ll be doing all the talking, right? Surely, I won’t be expected to actually  _converse_  with anyone, right? How do you even address a duke? We never went over that.”  
   
“As we went over, you won’t have to say anything unless you’ve been properly introduced and addressed directly—which, unfortunately for you, will probably happen,” James told him. “As for how you address people, for the duke, start with ‘Your Grace’. Then, if he tells you to drop the formalities, ‘sir’ will suffice. For everyone else, you can probably just call them ‘My Lord’ like you’ve been doing, or just ‘sir’. Just stay near me and follow my lead.”  
   
“ _Your Grace_ ,” McCoy repeated with the same disdain he’d shown when James first met him.  
   
James grinned in amusement. “Although he’ll probably be too busy tending to other guests to talk to us, try not to sound so sardonic if you actually end up talking to him. Showing emotions so blatantly is considered uncouth among the peerage. I doubt the duke will appreciate it as much as I do.”  
   
“You might want to tell  _His Grace_  that I’m mute then. Just because I know what constitutes as ‘appropriate conversational topics’ and how to behave doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to hide my distaste,” McCoy muttered. “I can’t believe I have to wear breeches and stockings. I’m a surgeon, not a nobleman. I belong in a hospital, not at some fancy dinner party.”  
   
“That reminds me. Seeing as we won’t be seated together at the table, I trust you know how to act?”  
   
McCoy nodded with a sour look on his face. “Yeah, Mister Spock taught me all the tricks. I’ll just eat whatever’s in front of me and nod at people like a goddamn daft person.”  
   
“Vulgarity won’t be tolerated, Mister McCoy,” he chided with a smirk. “You’ll make the ladies faint.” Then he perked up and added, “Speaking of ladies, if you meet a woman by the name of Hoshi Sato, it’s best that you play dumb and avoid her altogether. She’s the duke’s mistress and a very skilled temptress. To put it bluntly, just think of her as a siren—she’ll lead you to your death if you fall under her spell.”  
   
“Great. The women are just as inhuman as the men,” McCoy muttered uneasily.  
   
James arched a brow. “Were you expecting otherwise?”  
   
“No, I suppose not. You were all bred to be monsters anyway.”  
   
The way he said it sent shivers down James’ spine.  
   
“Oh, and the duke has a dog. It’s more or less the love of his life. Don’t be rude to it or you’ll get us both executed—and I have no intention of becoming a cadaver for some student to cut open. Just treat it as if it was the duke’s child, alright?”  
   
“I have to treat a  _dog_  like nobility too?” McCoy massaged his temples and groaned. “This night could not end soon enough.”  
   
He couldn’t agree more.  
   
\--  
   
The first half of the dance and dinner went smoothly enough. He kept one eye on McCoy throughout the entire meal while smiling and conversing with those next to him. To his credit, McCoy performed very well, trading in his usual scowl for a bored expression and his passionate arguments for idle chitchat. He looked absolutely miserable but behaved perfectly.  
   
James smiled, thinking of ways to reward the man later.  
   
After dinner, the two of them retired to the card room. “I hate this. When can we leave?” McCoy muttered to him as soon as they regrouped in the corner.  
   
He smiled and looked around before discreetly whispering back, “We’ll leave before supper. It would appear that I underestimated you. You’re doing remarkably well despite your silence.”  
   
“That’s because people here aren’t speaking English. They’re speaking some strange upper class language where every sentence is like a riddle. Everything they say has a double meaning or underlying implications. It makes my head spin just listening to them,” McCoy complained.  
   
“Welcome to the upper crust. You’ll get used to it eventually. On the brighter note, many of the guests seem to have taken your silence to be astuteness. In fact, you seem to have smitten quite a number of ladies with your smoldering silence, Mister McCoy. I suspect you’ll be getting a number of calling cards in the near future.”  
   
McCoy’s lips twitched. He gave a slight cough to hide his chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,  _Lord James_? You’re the one who had women practically throwing themselves at you. Besides, no one knows where I live whereas you have a town estate everyone knows of. Let’s see how many cards you get tomorrow.”  
   
“Who’s the jealous one now?” he asked in a teasing manner. “Don’t worry. I won’t take  _too_ many calls.”  
   
Barely suppressing a snort, McCoy replied, “Don’t be cheeky. I don’t care how many calls you take as long as we get to leave soon. Unlike you, I have work tomorrow.”  
   
“Just bear with it for a little longer.” Then he looked up as the door to the card room opened. “Careful, the duke’s coming this way. Be good.”  
   
“Ah, Lord James, there you are! I was afraid I’d missed you! It’s good to see you again. I hope you are well,” Archer greeted him a welcoming smile on his face.  
   
“Your Grace,” James replied with practiced ease. “I’m very well, thank you. And thank you for your gracious invitation.” Then he turned to McCoy and said, “Mister McCoy, I don’t believe I’ve introduced you to His Grace, Duke Archer.”  
   
Hesitantly, McCoy dipped his head and replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral, “Your Grace.”  
   
“Your Grace, this is Mister McCoy, the infamous surgeon I mentioned.”  
   
Archer chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, come now, there’s no need to be so formal. You’re here to enjoy yourselves. Do be honest, have you found everything to your liking?”  
   
“Everything’s been most enjoyable, sir,” James answered for the both of them with a diplomatic smile.  
   
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Turning to McCoy, Archer spoke up again, “Mister McCoy, I’m so pleased to finally make your acquaintance. You must be quite a distinguished surgeon for Lord James to take interest in your work.”  
   
“Hardly,” McCoy glanced over at James and quickly added, “sir. It was quite by chance that Lord James walked in while I was working. I must confess that I haven’t done anything to be credited with so much recognition.”  
   
James had to admit that he was impressed by the eloquence of McCoy’s words.  
   
“I find that hard to believe, Mister McCoy. Surely, you’re just being modest! Isn’t that right, Lord James?” Archer asked him with a questioning look.  
   
He took a moment to consider the pros and cons of passing McCoy off as a regular if not below average surgeon. It would take some convincing on his part, but it was doable. But in the end, he decided that that would do too much damage to his reputation, he nodded. “Please excuse him, sir. Mister McCoy’s a most modest man.”  
   
McCoy shot him a questioning look. In response, he arched his eyebrows for a brief second and smiled, allowing Archer to take over the conversation once more. “You will have to forgive me, Mister McCoy, I’m afraid I’m not entirely familiar with a surgeon’s work outside the battlefield. Of course, I’ve had surgeons come in to practice bloodletting under the instructions of my physician, Doctor Phlox, but I haven’t had any occasion to see surgeons otherwise.”  
   
Worrying the inside of his cheek, James managed to maintain the polite smile on his lips. He watched McCoy with interest, waiting to see what kind of reaction the man would have. Swallowing down whatever reflexive remark he had, McCoy gave a small nod. “It’s not a bad thing, not having any occasion to see a surgeon, sir. I don’t actually do bloodletting nor do I encourage its practice.”  
   
Archer arched a brow. “Oh? That’s most curious. Why not?”  
   
After a few minutes, assured that the conversation was proceeding smoothly with McCoy constantly checking his speech and showing excellent self-control, James allowed himself a moment to look around. Archer wouldn’t spend too much time with them. As the host, he couldn’t afford to look biased.  
   
Just then, the door burst open and a man entered with a pistol in his hand.  
   
A shot rang out.  
   
The next thing he knew, he was on the ground and the ceiling was spinning.  
   
“James!” A moment later, McCoy was in his line of sight, ripping open his coat and waistcoat. He looked up at someone and barked out, “Go fetch me my kit from the carriage! I’m going to need hot water and cloth—good god, man, don’t just stand there!”  
   
Then Archer came into view, pale and eyes widened with surprise. His voice was composed, but James could see that he’d been rattled by whatever happened. “Doctor Phlox will be here in a moment, Lord James.”  
   
James groaned and shook his head weakly. “No doctors…just McCoy.”  
   
With his vision blurring, he closed his eyes to keep the dizziness at bay. He vaguely noted how large and steady McCoy’s hands were, pleased at the thought of them being soaked in _his_ blood. “Dammit, James, why’d you go and do something so reckless?”  
   
How unfair, he thought. He didn’t even know what he did.  
   
“Your Grace?” a new voice asked.  
   
McCoy looked up and scowled, presumably, at the duke’s personal physician. All the restraint he’d shown earlier was gone. “Oh, hell no, don’t you dare come near him. If you so much as  _think_ about suggesting bloodletting, so help me god, I will personally bleed you out. As his personal surgeon, I’ll take full responsibility for keeping him alive!—where the hell is my  _goddamn_  kit!?”  
   
What a shame. They were doing so well too, James thought just as everything went black.  
   
\--  
   
When he came to, he found himself in an unfamiliar room. Turning his head to the side, he found McCoy asleep in an uncomfortable looking chair next to his bed. So he was still alive. A sharp pain shot up his torso when he tried to move causing him to let out a hiss.  
   
Awoken by the noise, McCoy’s eyes fluttered opened. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up with a start. “James, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”  
   
The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days.  
   
“I feel like I just got trampled by a horse,” he rasped. “Where are we?”  
   
 Helping him sit up, McCoy handed him a cup of hot water. “We’re still at the duke’s.”  
   
His eyes widened in alarm. “The duke’s?”  
   
McCoy nodded and reassured him, “Yeah, don’t worry though. No one’s been allowed in here except me. You’ve been out for two days now. After that idiotic stunt you pulled, you’re lucky to be alive.”  
   
Throat rehydrated and feeling more alert, he glanced over. “You saved me. I owe you my life.”  
   
“Yeah, well, that was after you saved me. So I guess that makes us even,” McCoy replied.  
   
Arching a brow, James asked, “What’d I do?”  
   
“You don’t remember? After that madman stormed into the room with his pistol, you shoved me and the duke out of the way. Mister Sulu and Mister Chekov apprehended the man—they’re standing guard outside the door now. The attacker was sent to kill the duke, apparently. But you got in the way and saved his life. Mister Spock is currently dealing with all the publicity you’ve gained from this incident—dammit, James, you could’ve  _died_!”  
   
Then the memories returned. When he saw the man enter the room, his immediate thought was to get McCoy to safety. Despite his best attempts, he turned out to be just like his father after all. The realization hit him hard. “You.”  
   
McCoy blinked, still breathing heavily. “What?”  
   
“I pushed  _you_  out of the way,” he muttered, barely audible, “the duke just happened to be in the way. I don’t know why I did it.”  
   
Hazel eyes widened. “James….”  
   
“You’re going to cost me my empire someday, McCoy,” he muttered with a thin, wry smile.  
   
“You goddamn reckless idiot,” McCoy said with a quiver in his voice. “I didn’t even want any part of this. Goddamn it. Why’d I have to meet you?”  
   
James smiled at all the emotions in McCoy’s voice and chided him, “What did we spend two weeks teaching you? Such a blatant display of emotions is unbecoming, Mister McCoy.”  
   
Eyebrow twitching, McCoy let out an amused scoff despite himself. “It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid. I didn’t think you were serious about people fainting at a little foul language.”  
   
He recalled McCoy’s last words before his passed out and let out a breathless laugh. “That’s right, you cussed out the duke’s personal physician, didn’t you?”  
   
“Not just his personal physician,” McCoy admitted. “And I may have blasphemed as well.”  
   
“I’m surprised you’re still allowed on the premises.”  
   
“Privilege of being your personal surgeon, I suppose.”  
   
Not hearing the usual bite in McCoy’s voice, James reached over and brushed a limp strand of hair out of his face. “Say that again.”  
   
McCoy arched a brow. “What? Privilege of being your personal surgeon?”  
   
He repeated the words with a possessive smile, “My personal surgeon…”  
   
There was a knock on the door and Sulu stepped in. “It’s good to see you awake, My Lord. The duke is requesting an audience. Are you feeling well enough to see him?”  
   
James arched a brow. A duke seeking permission to enter a room in his own estate, how interesting, he thought. Letting his hand fall back into his lap, he nodded. “Yes. Send him in.”  
   
A moment later, Archer stepped through the doors, an unreadable expression on his face. “Lord James, Mister McCoy. I’m most pleased to see you awake and well.”  
   
He dipped his head in greeting. “Your Grace.” McCoy followed suit.  
   
“Might I have a moment of your time, Lord James?” Archer asked.  
   
“Of course.” He turned to McCoy. “Would you be so kind as to give me and His Grace a minute alone, Mister McCoy? I think a short walk and a little fresh air would do you some good.”  
   
Standing himself up, limbs stiff from having slept in such an uncomfortable position, McCoy nodded and made his way to the door. “I’ll be back in a little while,” then he caught himself and added a gruff “My Lord.”  
   
Once they were left alone, Archer walked over to the side of his bed and looked down at him, his voice cold. “It would appear that your reputation was well earned, young Kirk. You have an excellent eye for talent indeed.”  
   
“Are you referring to my guards outside my door for apprehending the assailant, or are you referring to my surgeon for keeping me alive, sir?” he asked with feigned politeness.  
   
“All your servants performed brilliantly that night. And I understand that your butler is handling your public matters most superbly as well. Where  _do_  you find such exceptional servants, Kirk?”  
   
James smiled and answered vaguely, “Just here and there.”  
   
“Just here and there, indeed,” Archer repeated. “I was especially impressed by your surgeon. He gave no thought to his surroundings and began dressing your wound on the spot—even though his language was less than civil.”  
   
“It’s part of his charm.” Then, knowing that the man shared his bloodlust, he asked, “It was a beautiful sight, wasn’t it? Seeing his hands coated in blood. And that intensity he has when he’s operating—I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”  
   
He could see Archer shudder at the memory. “Indeed. I can see why you picked him over a physician. I must commend you for finding such a gem. Talented and loyal, I’m most envious.”  
   
James arched an eyebrow, wondering what the man did to test McCoy’s loyalty. “You don’t say?”  
   
“While you were unconscious, he refused to leave your side. Did he tell you that I offered him a position with my household? I offered him so many things and he turned it all down on the basis that he was your personal surgeon.”  
   
Narrowing his eyes slightly, he muttered, “Did he now? No, he didn’t tell me any of this.”  
   
“I suppose his main concern was your wellbeing.” Archer chuckled. “He chewed out my steward when I had him propose the idea. A surgeon of that calibre outright turning down a position of power because of his morals, he’s a most curious man. What do you want for him?”  
   
He paused for a moment, not having expected the man to suddenly drop all formalities. “Nothing,” he replied. “I plan on keeping him.”  
   
“Really? There’s nothing I could offer that would make you change your mind?”  
   
“Nothing that comes to mind, I’m afraid.”  
   
“Not even Pike?”  
   
His lips curled into an amused smile. “And let you have all the fun? I couldn’t possibly. When the time comes, I’ll deal with him on my own accord. And sir, might I add that this topic of conversation is hardly appropriate given our… _current circumstances_? You’re hardly in a position to be vying for any of my servants.”  
   
Archer regarded him for a moment with a cold frown. “I could just have you killed and take all of them from you, but that would go against a gentleman’s code of conduct, wouldn’t it?”  
   
“I suspect it would,” was his breezy reply, not bothering to make a threat of his own.  
   
“You take more after your mother than I gave you credit for. But fair enough,” Archer conceded. “You did save my life that night, Kirk. And for that, I am forever in your debt.”  
   
Predacious blue eyes flashed with glee at how well everything turned out. James shook his head and said, “Please, think nothing of it. It was my honour, sir.”  
   
It was nothing more than an insincere formality. James would use their new chance alliance to his full advantage and they both knew it. Under Archer’s indirect protection, he would thrive and flourish.  
   
With a stiff nod, Archer took a step back. “Yes, well, I should probably leave you to rest.”  
   
James sat up a little straighter. “Actually, would you be so kind as to tell Sulu to get the carriage ready? I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome by a number of days.”  
   
Archer glanced back at him on his way out the door. “You’re more than welcome to recover here—but as you wish. I do hope you have a quick recovery,  _Lord James_.”  
   
“Thank you, sir.”  
   
As the duke left, he caught sight of a beautiful woman standing on the other side, watching him with an alluring smile and cold, calculating eyes. Hoshi Sato, he thought, what a terrifying woman. Archer wouldn’t stand a chance against her—never did.  
   
He would just have to make good use of Archer before he met his end.  
   
\--  
   
After winning the argument against McCoy over whether or not he was well enough to travel by carriage, they left Archer’s manor. With James leaning against him and clutching his wound, McCoy frowned. “You’re an idiot.”  
   
“Yes, you’ve said that a number of times now, McCoy,” he replied.  
   
“You were  _shot_ only two days ago. You should be resting in a bed instead of sitting in a carriage,” McCoy complained.  
   
James shrugged. “I prefer resting in my own bed and being tended to by my own servants.”  
   
There was a pause, and then McCoy asked, “I assume everything went well with the duke?”  
   
He nodded with a smug grin on his lips. “It went better than I could’ve ever hoped. I got out of this alive and intact and now the duke owes me a rather large favour.”  
   
McCoy rolled his eyes and muttered, “You damn nobles and your bloodthirsty ambitions—nothing but monsters, the lot of you.”  
   
James gave a dark chuckle. “You say it like it’s a bad thing, McCoy. The duke will keep us both safe for the remainder of his short life. And by the time his mistress disposes of him, I’ll be untouchable.” Then he looked over at the man. “You  _do_  realize that you just lost your last chance to rid yourself of me. Nothing kills a man faster than an untreated wound, right? You could’ve been the personal surgeon of a duke and his lovely mistress.”  
   
With an affronted look on his face, McCoy scowled. “I wouldn’t let you  _die_  just to get you to leave me alone or to earn a little more money. Trading in my life’s work to lick some she-devil’s feet, just who do you think I am?”  
   
He smiled and closed his eyes. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”  
   
   
Once they were back at the estate, with the help of Spock, they managed to get James back into his bed with relative ease. He smiled as Uhura rolled her eyes and helped McCoy redress his bandages, the two of them quietly discussing his idiocy among themselves. Scotty personally delivered the two bowls of freshly made soup to his chambers and gave him a pat on the back for a job well done.  
   
“The Lord Mayor of London sent his regards and hopes you’re well,” Spock informed him once he was settled in bed and wolfing down his soup.  
   
He glanced up. “Ah, he heard about my heroic feat, did he?” Both Uhura and McCoy gave simultaneous snorts at that, causing him to chuckle. “Oh, and do remind me to write my mother and stepfather a thank you card for sending me to London and that I’ll be extending my trip indefinitely.”  
   
Spock nodded. “Very good. Will that be all for now, My Lord?”  
   
Finishing the last bite of his soup, he added, “Sulu and Chekov will need to be rewarded for their valiant behaviour and for showing up the duke’s personal guards.”  
   
“Consider it done.”  
   
“Reward yourself, Missus Uhura and Scotty as well for taking such excellent care of the household in my absence. Wonderfully done as always.” Placing the bowl back onto the tray and watching McCoy do the same, he gestured for it to be taken away. “That’ll be all for now, Spock, Missus Uhura. Thank you.”  
   
The pair nodded. “We’ll leave you to your rest then, My Lord.”  
   
“I’ll have to think of a reward for you as well,” he told McCoy after they were left alone, “my personal surgeon.”  
   
He couldn’t get over how  _right_ it sounded.  
   
McCoy rolled his eyes. “You can think about it  _after_  you’ve recovered, you infant.”  
   
As the man made the move to get up, he held him back by the sleeve. “Stay.”  
   
“Don’t be ridiculous, James. You need your rest,” McCoy protested.  
   
“So do you,” he retorted with earnest eyes. “We don’t have chambers set up for you yet.”  
   
“Then I’ll just go back to my—”  
   
He furrowed his brow. “No. Just…stay here with me.”  
   
Hazel eyes regarded him for a moment before sighing in defeat. “You’re impossible.” He proceeded to kick his shoes off and crawled under the covers.  
   
James grinned and wrapped an arm around the man in triumph. “Welcome to the Kirk household, Mister McCoy.”  
   
“I hope you don’t expect me to start addressing you by ‘My Lord’ or anything,” McCoy muttered.  
   
“Of course not. When we’re not in public, just continue to call me James, McCoy.” He leaned in and captured the man’s lips. “I  _insist_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple notes of interest:
> 
> -Physicians and surgeons were considered completely different jobs. One was a gentleman's job and required a degree while the other was considered physical labour (hacking away limbs and whatnot) and only required an apprenticeship and written exams. Physicians were addressed as "Doctor X" while surgeons were addressed as "Mister X". Chemist is just another word for apothecary. In terms of the social hierarchy, physicians were at the top, then surgeons, then chemists though many surgeons were also chemists.
> 
> -Bloodletting was the most widely practised treatment back then. Even though a few doctors in Europe had published papers disproving its effectiveness, the practice continued well into the late 19th century.
> 
> -Dinner and supper were also different things. Dinner was the evening meal while supper was more like a midnight snack.
> 
> -Baths were rarely taken daily and the portable tub had to be filled manually by servants.
> 
> -Prior to the Anatomy Act of 1832, body snatching ran rampant in the UK. Resurrectionists were often hired by medical professionals to dig up fresh bodies for academic and scientific purposes.
> 
> For Regency etiquette, just Google it because there were rules for _everything_.


End file.
